


Worth Waiting For

by Val_Creative



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jon Snow is King in the North, Near Future, Queen Daenerys, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 19:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11881290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Daenerys finally sits on the Iron Throne in King's Landing, led by Jon's hand. They talk of ancestors, peace and wars —love— and everything between.





	Worth Waiting For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElanneH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElanneH/gifts).



> ANOTHER FIRST TRY WITH A SHIP IN THIS FANDOM. You can view this relationship without the incest like pre-canon of R+L=J theory in the tv show, or with it, because I didn't address that in this story and it doesn't matter for the context. It's more or less up to you how you wanna view it. If you enjoyed, please leave a thought/comment! ♥ Thank you!

 

*

A _thousand_ swords.

Daenerys gazes up awestruck at the Iron Throne encompassed by dying, yellow light, in its menacing, asymmetrical form towering high above. She gathers her hands at her waist, pressing her lips together.

"Not what you imagined, Your Grace?" Jon asks quietly, looking up as well.

Unlike her pale silver, glimmering dress opposing all of the golden and reddish undertones of the Hall, Jon stands beside her in his dark, roughspun things like a shadow. They're _all_ shadows underneath the might and magnificence of this _monstrous_ , iron creation, Daenerys realizes.

"That's not it," she says, lifting her voice with confidence. And a hint of _dread_ , that spills from Daenerys's lips, whether or not she approves it. "The Iron Throne is _exactly_ as I imagined it when I was frightened of my brother taking his place as King."

With a small, dutiful nod, Jon faces her and touches Daenerys's hand held out to him. He leads her towards the welded, unpolished throne-steps.

The climb feels steep and unbalanced. Daenerys holds her head up, not glancing down as she ascends by herself, but her heart thunders against her breastbone. The part of the throne _safe_ enough for a person would be the seat itself, and she gracefully turns, sweeping aside her long, billowing under-sleeves.

Jon remains at the landing, watching her with grim, silent reverence as she rests herself down.

"My ancestors sat here, Jon Snow." Her violet eyes study the dust and fallen, burned tapestries. Daenerys inhales, jaw clenched. "Ruled over Westeros and all other lands, sought for peace and for war…"

"They accomplished both," he speaks up, mindfully. To her reassurance, the corner of Jon's mouth twitches as if he means to smile. "And what do _you_ want… now that you have everything there is to have?"

_Everything?_

One of her children died. Many others died, to get to this moment, including the former Queen-usurper.

"… To not be alone while having it," Daenerys answers softly, no longer able to feign any cold or steely emotion in front of him.

She's known him for her so little time, but Jon has been nothing but an honest, true ally to her. She can't trust him _entirely_ , not able to call him 'friend' — but, soon enough.

Jon lowers his eyes, hitching his foot onto the very bottommost, massive step.

To her amazement, he climbs up the Iron Throne without any faltering, and managing to avoid banging Longclaw against the twisted, rigid structure itself.

Daenerys fights back her own lighthearted smile.

Instead of bending _one_ knee, Jon ends up on both to the iron-dais, arranging his legs underneath himself. It's barely enough room to accommodate him. He bows his head momentarily and lays his hands down. A curl of warmth and _desire_ shoots through Daenerys's belly, as soon as Jon grins and opens his mouth.

"How may I serve you then… my Queen?"

She composes herself, peering over him with a sly, little eye-narrow. "I suppose… it requires knowing what you are best at…" Daenerys hardly expects his grin to widen so carelessly, or Jon's leather-gloved hands to smooth over her pale silver dress, riding the material up and exposing her legs.

"Some things," he tells her, murmuring. When she doesn't flinch away or break their gaze, Jon moves in, now practically cradled against Daenerys's naked, opening thighs. "But I don't know _everything_."

Daenerys squirms in place, feeling the tip of his nose brush her pelvis.

She gulps down a laugh and a breathless, surprised moan, when Jon's facial hair tickles her skin, lowering down, _down_. No man has put his mouth to her cunt before — and it's a shame. Jon's tongue and lips give her a delicious, entrancing heat. Her very own fire within, stroked, _alive_.

Daenery's hands reach out instinctively — her pale fingers sinking into Jon's dark, thick curls, instead of the Iron Throne's sword-blades. She will be the ruler it — _he_ — deserves.

Soon enough.

*

 


End file.
